


The Bends

by FavorsTheFoolish



Series: Children of the Sun [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Incest, M/M, Panic Attacks, Sibling Incest, Talking To Dead People, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 14:13:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FavorsTheFoolish/pseuds/FavorsTheFoolish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles, Stuart and Derek all come back to the surface.  Some of them take the first steps toward figuring things out.  Immediately follows Polaris, still very unbeta'd, typos will be corrected as I notice them.</p><p>Over here if you prefer tumblr: http://leastlikelyto.tumblr.com/post/65183793764/the-bends-opens-manhole-cover-shoves-out-this-fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bends

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for this: Angst, incest, twincest, panic attacks, canon-level-stupid cures for panic attacks, rough sex, a lot less sex than Polaris, a lot less Derek than Polaris, lots of talking, plottiness, references to dead characters, twincest, guilt, shame, invented Slavic names from quasi-significant particles that I can’t tell you how to pronounce. Season 3a spoilers. 
> 
> (Warnings from Polaris: Incest, twincest, non-con, somnophilia, possessiveness, suggestions of an abusive relationship, OC: (ish. Fanon? The really pervy half of fandom?) Stiles’ Twin).

No one said anything, one rendered momentarily dumb from his orgasm, one jarred by the return to his physical body.

Stuart was the kind of quiet a person got when they were waiting to find out just how heavily the other shoe was going to drop.

Stiles patted Derek on the shoulder in a silent ‘time to get up’ which Derek obeyed. Stiles gave him a half smile and turned to hug Stuart, heedless of what or whose bodily fluids were leaking from where.  Derek got dressed and stood around awkwardly as Stuart tried to hold it together.

"Stu, it was good; I found out so much. It was worth it, I promise," Stiles soothed him, which just made Stuart’s tears spill over as he punched his twin in the shoulder.

"Ow, domestic violence, dude!" Stiles complained, but there was laughter in his tone that was teasing and affectionate.  Stuart clenched his jaw to keep his chin from trembling and hugged him fiercely back.

"Fine, tell me what you found out that was so awesome that it makes giving me a heart attack okay," Stuart grumbled, pulling Stiles to the sofa to sit in front of him so that he could hide his face, yanking a blanket over Stiles.  Tact was never one of their great virtues, even with each other, and Stuart didn’t think he had it in him to school his expression into calm after the scare Stiles had given him and the trauma Derek had caused Stuart getting Stiles back.  

“Can I get dressed first?” Stiles asked, and Stuart flinched, muttering against the back of his neck:

“I can’t deal with letting you go right now, little bro.”

Stuart glanced at Derek briefly, hating that he had to have heard that, that he couldn’t be quiet enough to have a secret with his brother if Derek was in the room.  They were learning Polish, or Serbian, or coming up with a spoken version of the written code they’d developed when they were five.  Something.  Derek moved toward the door, and Stuart’s gripped tightened when Stiles said,

“Don’t run off.  You need to hear this too, and I really don’t wanna repeat it like fifteen times.”  

Stuart sat holding Stiles so tight he was amazed his brother could breathe, let alone speak, face hidden against Stiles’ shoulder blade as his glasses dug uncomfortably against both of them.  

Stiles had spoken to Erica, Boyd, Ms. Blake, Matt, god, even Mister Harris, searching for answers on the latest supernatural Beacon Hills phenomenon.  

"They say that something is coming. There’s a ring around us all, and it’s tightening. Apparently we’re too interesting for our own good. "

Things had started disappearing around town, buildings being torn down, others wrapped up like asbestos was being removed only to be unwrapped strangely cleaner and colder than before.  The train station had been torn down, or they assumed it had. Isaac had driven by and it was just _gone_ , not even brick dust left behind.  

Between Danny and the sheriff, they tried to pin down who was purchasing the properties, why, but each search or inquiry had led to a blandly named LLC, which in turn led absolutely nowhere.  Conventional avenues exhausted, Stiles had decided to improvise.

"Harris knew the most, actually. He’s a lot less of a dick now that he’s dead," Stiles said. He paused, expression going haunted for a moment. "He said he was sorry for a lot of it.  He’d heard things, before Ms. Blake killed him. He’d been ‘interviewed’ for a job at a university out of state, and… yeah, he said that he knew, deep down, that it wasn’t that kind of interview, but he went with it ‘cause it was good for his ego. Dying makes you like… really self aware. But we’ve been on the radar for a while, and the Nemeton surge tipped them over the edge from remotely watching to directly observing. They’ve set up shop in town, and I guess they don’t like what they’ve been seeing."

"Who the hell is _they_ , Stiles?” Stuart asked.

"I don’t know. Everyone had heard stuff, rumors, like… Men in black, X-Files, conspiracy theory stuff, way too paranoid, even for me.  It’s probably just richer hunters with better lawyers, which isn’t anything I’m thrilled about, but—"

“Stiles,” Derek interrupted.  “Erica and Boyd…”

Derek stopped there, but what he was asking was obvious to all of them. Stiles squeezed Stuart’s hand.

“They’re in a better place, Derek.  They’re good.  Erica gave me instructions for things that’d help, but they’re good.”

“What does that mean?” Derek’s voice cracked on the last word, pleading for an answer that would make more damn sense than a greeting card platitude.  Stiles squeezed Stuart’s hand so hard it hurt a bit, the pain a clarifying relief that Stuart returned, white knuckled grips together.

“I wish I could tell you, Derek.  I do, I wish I could.  I can’t.  Just… they’re being looked after.  They’re in like, the safest safe hands.  Seriously.  I know that doesn’t—”

“It’s enough,” Derek said with a short nod.  “Don’t do that spell again.  Not ‘til you learn to get back.  Did you find out anything else?”

Stiles sighed.

“Some more about magic, stuff about the non-werewolves in the gang, our badass selves included,” he said, gesturing to himself and Stuart.  “But that’s about it for what’ll help the pack.”

“I’ll let Scott know,” Derek affirmed, and slipped out the window like the grimmest Peter Pan ever.

Neither of the twins said anything for several long moments, not until the Camaro’s growl had faded.  Stuart whined when Stiles twisted in his arms to face him, taking Stuart’s face in his hands.

"You okay?" Stiles asked. "Stu. Eyes open, big brother, I need you with me. C’mon."

Stiles pulled his glasses off and kissed Stuart’s forehead, each tightly shut eyelid.

"Stuart, come back," Stiles pleaded.  Stuart’s eyes snapped open, shoving aside the momentary terror that maybe he was just losing his mind, looking in the mirror, that he’d made Stiles up.  He grabbed Stiles’ shoulders like he wanted to shove him away or yank him closer.  He just held Stiles there, nails biting into skin and fingertips bruising deep.

“It would _so_ serve you right if I didn’t,” Stuart sobbed.  “I called you, I held you, I fucking _begged_ you to come back to me, Stiles, and you didn’t even twitch.  And then…”

Stiles’ eyes were tearing up, the meniscus threatening to break around his lashes, and Stuart hated that he didn’t know if it was because Stiles was sorry, if he was frightened, or if it was just a reaction the sting of Stuart’s human nails breaking his skin.

“Did you not want to come back?” Stuart asked, hollowed out and terrified.  “Did you just not hear me?”

“Stuart,” Stiles swallowed, just his name, not a request or an answer.

“Why did you come back for him and not for me, Stiles?” Stuart demanded, shaking Stiles slightly, and that was enough to have Stiles’ forearms come up between Stuart’s, breaking his grip and grabbing his face.

“Because I _never left you,_ asshole!” Stiles snapped, tears spilling.  “Never.  I felt you with me the whole time, every second of it, like you were right at my back.  Just because I couldn’t move or talk doesn’t mean I wasn’t there, that I’d left you, how can you even—”

“Because you could move and talk again when he asked you to come back.  You heard him, you listened to him, Stiles!  When I was in you it was like you were almost dead, your breathing didn’t change, and then when he—”

“Stuart, I saw Mom,” Stiles cut him off, and silence struck Stuart like a vacuum, all the air and all the vibrations the air could carry just… gone.  

And then his stomach dropped, and the air rushed back in, and Stuart had his first panic attack since before their mother died.  

“Hey, hey, no, Stuart?” Stiles pressed.  “Stu?  Stay with me.”

What had their mother said?  Had she told Stiles that what her two sons did together was wrong, sick, and that it had to stop?  

Had a couple hours ago, when Stiles wasn’t even awake, when he hadn’t looked at Stuart or kissed him or reacted at all, when Stuart had come into his brother like an empty shell, been the last time?  Their last time?

But Stiles reached between them, unbuttoning Stuart’s fly, getting up on his knees, wrestling Stuart’s pants and underwear down far enough to free his cock and pulling at it until he was hard, or hard enough.  

It was rough when Stiles sank down on him, the lube from before having lost most of its efficacy, and it was probably the least advisable move to break a panic attack brought on by the mention of their mother, but it worked.

“You with me?” Stiles breathed out, voice gritty and eyes bright, petting Stuart’s face softly.  Stuart was still shaking, but he nodded.  “Good.  Good.  I’ve got you, okay?”

Stuart nodded harder, thrusting up, and Stiles hissed but ground down on him anyway.

“You scared me,” Stuart said.  “You scared me so fucking bad, Stiles.”

Stiles ducked down and kissed him then, and it didn’t matter if they were fucking or thumb wrestling or both crying their eyes out, Stiles’ kisses always went right to Stuart’s bone marrow, more intimate than even having all the same DNA could be.  

“You did good, Stu, you looked after me, and you helped me get back,” Stiles groaned into his ear.  “I never left, I never stopped feeling you, but I got turned around, I did, but you got me back.”

“We’re okay,” Stuart said, because he was too scared of the answer if he made it a question.

“We’re okay,” Stiles answered back, firmer and without a shred of doubt in his voice, and tried not to wince at the burn as he rode Stuart until they both came in sobbing gasps and sticky skin and the faint tang of blood in the air.  

Stuart held him until they could both breathe without shuddering.

“‘Kay,” Stiles said at last, throat tight.  “I seriously need a shower and I’m not sure I can walk there by myself, so help me up.”

Stiles’ legs trembled as Stuart helped him get his feet on the floor and stand.  The minute he took his hands away, Stiles trembled like a brand new foal.  Stuart grabbed him again, wedging his shoulder under Stiles’ arm while yanking his pants up as best he could.  

“Don’t think you’ve got a shower in your future,” Stuart said, and Stiles let out a pained chuckle.

“Outlook not so good,” he agreed.  “Bath, I guess.”

“Is this just…” Stuart swallowed.  “Is this just ‘cause of me?”

Stuart held Stiles elbows and helped him sit slowly on the closed toilet seat.  Stiles shifted until he was slightly less uncomfortable and dragged his hand down his face.

“It’s… this is kinda the culmination of the day’s events, Stu.  But yeah, I should’ve probably grabbed more lube before I got on you.”

“I’m sorry,” Stuart said, turning on the water and plugging the tub.  He didn’t know why, it wasn’t as though this was the first time that he’d fucked Stiles so long or hard or hasty that Stiles couldn’t walk after. It had been a while, but Stuart had never felt guilty about it before.  Stiles sighed, and shrugged, opened his mouth and then closed it.

“Are we still okay?” Stiles asked at last.  Stuart helped him back to his feet and kept him steady with hands on his ribcage as Stiles slowly lowered himself into the water, not meeting Stiles’ attempts at eye contact.  His fingertips were white where all the blood was pushed out by how hard he gripped the plastic.  Stuart stood over him, the ink from the runes bleeding off Stiles’ skin as the water hit it.  

“Stu?” Stiles prompted.  Stuart shook his head and yanked his shirt over his head, shoving his pants back down and trying not to fall and crack his head on the tiles as he yanked off one sock, then the other.  “C’mon, talk to me.”

“Move forward,” Stuart replied.

Stiles hesitated.

“Stu, I really can’t take another round right now,” he said, and it yanked at the top of Stuart’s stomach, that lurch of guilt.

“I won’t.  I promise I won’t, Stiles, just… if you move forward I can help you get cleaned up.”

Stiles sighed and did, and Stuart hated, hated the resignation in that sigh, that Stiles didn’t believe him. He hated more that Stiles probably had a reason not to.

He slid in behind Stiles and hugged him, feeling the weird caress of the surface of the water lapping up on his dry skin.

"I’m sorry," he whispered, over and over. Eventually Stiles looked over his shoulder.

"Pretty sure you don’t get to take the blame for this one. You were panicking. I helped. It’s not your fault. And we both know magic isn’t exactly safe, that’s why we have the system."

Stuart got quieter at that. That’s what it came down to. Stuart had let Derek have sex with his unconscious twin because their safety measures demanded it. Picking at it wouldn’t change anything.

Stuart picked up the bottle of body wash and drizzled some over Stiles’ chest, and Stiles slowly untensed as the runes smeared and dissolved.

"How’s Mom?" Stuart asked at last. Stiles shrugged in his arms.

"She’s good. There are some really nice people in Ghost Beacon Hills, I gotta say. We should talk to the chamber of commerce, see about getting that on the signs into town, ‘nicest ghost population in Northern California.’  Or would that be under the purview of parks—"

"Stiles, stop."

Stiles stopped.

"What did she say?"

Stuart felt Stiles take a deep breath, about to go on another evasive ramble.

"About _us_ , Stiles!” he snapped before Stiles could start. “You can’t tell me she’s all dead-omniscient and she didn’t have something to say about us, ” Stuart said flatly.  ”Just get it over with.”

Stiles took a breath and let it out slow.

"She’s… conflicted. I can’t tell you everything she said, some of it was just for me, and she wants you to find a way to come talk to her anyway."

"Oh I bet she does. Fuck."

"It’s okay, Stu," Stiles insisted. Stuart laughed, hard and slightly hysterical.

"Really. You saw Mom, and she said, ‘oh, hey, so you’re sleeping with your big brother, glad to hear you’re still getting along.’ How do you expect me to believe that this is ‘okay’ with Mom?"

“‘Okay’ isn’t the right word. There may not be a right word. But she said…”

Stiles swallowed.

"She said ‘Stiles and Stuart are lovers. Iskrenichwał and Ziemibran are still brothers, my darling boys.’"

Stuart’s hand stopped moving on Stiles’ chest.

"She said that?" Stuart rasped out around the lump that swelled in his throat. Stiles took his hand and squeezed.

"Yeah. Not really a good word for it. ‘Okay’ is as close as I’ve got."

They stayed like that until the water got too cold. By then, Stiles could stand, so they switched to a shower to warm back up and rinse away the ink, the come, the whole damned day. They tried to wash away the shadow that hung over them both, but Stuart was growing to believe that they’d been born with it, the same way they’d been born with the same hair and eyes and moles.

Clean and dry, Stuart tried not to jostle Stiles too much as he got into bed beside him, the latter out and into twitchy, fidgety sleep moments after he’d laid down. They were under that shadow, still, more constant than any blanket or ceiling or roof or sky.

Stuart wasn’t sure, petting Stiles’ hair, that he wanted out from under it, or if he should.

 

But he knew who he could ask.

 


End file.
